ShamanKlok
by Zandoz
Summary: Have no idea what the hell is up with my mind, but here it is. Dehtklok's Nathan Explosion's tribal relatives, the Yannemango tribe of the Amazon. Ofdensen's bastard offspring. Rainforest deforestation, blood, violence, sex, and more. Um. Yeah.
1. Chapter 1

Kinnamara awoke, stretched, then padded to build up the fire in the shaman's longhouse she lived in. It was very early morning, but might as well get up, she thought. She got the water for the morning tea boiling, and straightened up some herbs and items on the shelves standing against the wall of the house. Glancing over to the sleeping area she notices Tinnemanga, her mother and Shaman of her tribe, still sleeping. Well, she wasn't as young as she used to be...it wouldn't hurt to let her sleep. Then the young woman Kinnamara crossed to the end of the sleeping area where a bamboo crib sat, to check on her baby son. He was just eight months old, but he was strong and beautiful. At least he was to his mother's eyes--he resembled her a lot, and had inherited her large, grey eyes, eyes which missed little.

She had named him Berabha, which was a shortened form of the words "brilliant man" in her people's language, in honor of his grandfather, her father. He was crafty and wise according to what the old ones of the village told her, and she'd met him once when she'd went through her Womanhood ceremony and given her virginity to the Good Spirits. He was from the Outside World, one of the White Men they didn't understand and generally feared. Her mother allowed her to see him, and she'd knelt before him, for the first time calling a man 'father'. He was tall and slender, with pale skin and short brown hair, and those steel-grey eyes. A few days later he returned to his own people, but she'd never given up her dream of going out into the wider world after seeing him. She'd vowed to leave her tribe someday and venture out, and see what all that they feared was all about. She wanted to find Nightstalker, her father, and learn all she could. She felt she'd learned and did everything of worth to do here in this tiny village, she'd become a woman and a shaman, had given the shaman's line an heir. She kept having the same dreams telling her she had a different destiny.

She was 17 years old, according to the outside.

According to her people, she'd been a grown woman for over 4 years.

She made the flat cakes of unleavened bread and porridge for breakfast, and Tinnemanga had finally awoken and rubbed her sleepy eyes, instinctively checking on the sleeping babe in his holder. "He's fine," the young woman said. "Come have some breakfast, Mother."

"You are a good daughter," the elder shaman said. "And you make my life so much easier. But I still don't understand why you wouldn't marry Yorogi, he's a chieftain's son. It would've been a good match! It would help your status, at any rate."

Tinnamara snorted, setting out the wooden dishes they would eat off of on the low table. "My status is fine. A Shaman doesn't have to have a husband, you never did. And besides, Berabha was sent by the Gods in the Great Feast, just like a lot of babies of married and unmarried women."

"We all know what lad you've ever had your eye on," grumbled the older woman, taking over serving duties from her daughter. "That silly Mehetse. That's good, I have his offspring under my roof. I'm surprised any child of his has brains enough to suck a nipple for food. Gah."

The younger woman held her tongue. They both sat on woven floor-mats and ate at the low table, dipping the crispy, flat cakes into the porridge and drinking the tea. After eating, she heard the baby stirring and fussing. She changed his swaddling clothes and cradling him in one arm, stepped outside to breathe the fresh morning air. He began to nurse, grunting contentedly, for she was clad only in her usual grass skirt and armbands.

The rest of the tribe were going through their morning routines, the men getting ready to go hunting and the women to tend the few cultivated crops and babies. She loved her people and its culture, but felt so...restless and constrained. She'd always been that way since learning that her father came from the white man's cities, and that Nathan Explosion of Dethklok was of their tribe, descendent of one of the Great Chiefs of long ago, and was guarded by Nightstalker, her father.

Wistfully she watched the men setting out for hunting for meat. She would accompany them at times, for she was good luck, being a shaman and all, but she'd also learned to wield spear, club, and blowgun. However, with an infant at the breast, she had to remain at camp. She didn't mind being a mother so much, she wanted a baby. A medicine woman or man wasn't expected to marry or produce children, although they sometimes did. They always had status and a place within their society, for they were the doctors, magicians, psychiatrists and scholars of their people.

When Berabha was weaned, she'd decided, she would leave this tiny place, and venture into the great cities, and find her father, and Dethklok, and her destiny.


	2. Chapter 2

Mehetse came over for supper that evening, bringing a choice piece of meat which Tinnemanga put in the pot. He was a young hunter given to pranks and jokes, and the no-nonsense Tinnemanga didn't approve. He was well-muscled and good-looking for a young Yannemango man, and lots of young ladies sought him out after the sun went down, but he refused them. His heart was plainly given to Kinnamara, who seemed to like him plenty but didn't want to be his mate. She did enjoy his visits, and he made her laugh. She liked it very much.

Berabha began fussing halfway through the meal and the young mother had him sitting in her lap, trying to give him some bread dipped in stew to munch on, hoping to quiet him. "Here, let me," offered Mehetse, and Kinnamara handed him over. The young man was wearing a necklace of animal teeth and beads which he shook at the child to entertain him. It seemed to work--his mother was able to finish her meal uninterrupted. "Yes, you're going to be a smart one, eh?," he said, playing with the baby. "You will be like your mother, hey? Oh you can't have that," he said to the child who was trying to get one of the teeth off the necklace, and began bouncing him on his knee. The young mother couldn't help but smile....having never had sex with any other man since her passage into adulthood she knew he was the father, and he seemed to like the child well enough.

Eventually even Tinnemanga couldn't resist grinning at the young man and infant and their antics. Kinnamara cleared away the wooden dishes, scoured them clean and was replacing them on their respective shelves when a shout and a general alarm was called. Mehetse quickly handed the child back to his mother, grabbed his spear and dashed outside to see what was the matter. Two scouts from a neighboring tribe, the Yunmuri, had ran headlong into the village, toward the chieftain's hut, shouting something that sounded like 'taba tapyîa,' or a non-related native village or tribe. Typically this referred to a hostile tribe who didn't speak their language, which was related to Old Tupi, an ancestral aboriginal tongue. The Yannemango and the Yunmuri were typically on good terms with one another, and had intermingled with each other at different times in the past.

The elder and younger Shamans went to see what was going on, to hear the two Yunmuri tell the chieftain Okti about an attack on their village by a tribe called the Kameinya, and that the aid of the Yannemango was asked for. The Yunmuri chieftainess Swaheir promised everlasting gratitude and many gifts in exchange for any aid rendered to them in their time of need. Okti agreed to send a group of his hunters back with the other tribe's scouts, and they were chosen for their toughness and fleetness of foot. Tinnemanga did a quick blessing and spell to aid them and bring them back safe, and Hanto, one of the Yunmuri, turned approving eyes to Kinnamara, saying, "This beautiful kuñã must accompany us to our village, and lend her strength and good luck to our people. I will make sure she is safe, I will make presents to your tribe, but I would rest easier about the fate of my people if she would come."

"Hmmph," went Tinnemanga, crossing her arms. "You can give those gifts to me, kurumi. And it is up to her and the Okti, whether she goes or stays." Hanto winced at the barb directed at him, being referred to as a teenage boy, but he took it in stride. The chieftain, Okti, gave his permission for Kinnamara to go with the party, and she declared she would.

The older shaman noticed that Mehetse had been one of those chosen to go, and shook her head. She uttered another prayer to the Spirits to bring them all back alive and in one piece.

Ofdensen awoke in a cold sweat, panting, yet again. He rolled over, rubbing his face, still seeing after all these years the fire and smoke and blood of his extended, unintentional stay in the Amazon Basin all those years ago...how long had it been? Nearly 20 years? He stumbled across the small, Spartan room he called his own personal quarters to the adjacent bathroom and splashed some water on his face, breathing deeper and slower now to calm himself. He looked in the mirror, and a impassive, no-nonsense, clean-shaven face stared back at him.

He sighed. He was 44, and he didn't look it, but he damn sure felt it at the moment. The piercing grey eyes appeared haunted and haggard, the cheeks more sunk in than he remembered. Tonight the dream was a bit different..this one had a fiery young Yannemango woman dancing around a huge bonfire in it…it wasn't like Tinnemanga when she was young, no, this young lady was different..she had grey eyes..

Oh, fuck! Was it his daughter? It had to be, no other Yannemango he knew of had those strange eyes, his eyes! Kinnamara..that was her name, he said it out loud to remind himself, testing the words on his tongue. The last time he saw her she was what, 12, 13? A child still, but considered an adult woman in her tribe. In his dream she was covered in blood and warpaint, but she didn't seem to be hurt…he hoped she wasn't. He knew enough about magic and other supernatural things to not discount it wholly…but he glanced at the clock and saw that it was just past 5 in the morning. Shit. Better get started with the day. There was a band meeting today as well, and he figured he'd be sitting and waiting on them all for a few hours at least, but he could get caught up on paperwork as he waited.

The CFO's work was never done.


	3. TensionKlok

Ofdensen was signing off on several pieces of instructions, mostly about security, when Toki wandered into the smaller conference room with a bowl of candy. "Hi Ofsdensens!," he chirped brightly, seating himself to the manager's right. "You wants some candy?"

"No, thank you Toki, I'm fine," the CFO replies absent-mindedly, rearranging a set of files to put into his briefcase. The Norwegian unwraps another piece of candy and pops it in his mouth.

Murderface appeared next, grumbling about 'schtoopid band meetingsh' and sourly plopped down beside Toki. Nathan actually made a semi-civilized appearance, his craggy face bearing its usual frown but growling was at a minimum--possibly because his son (with the boy's mother) was currently visiting Mordhaus. Drinking wasn't outlawed but had been severely curtailed, and the singer even looked well-rested for once.

"Toki..God, kid, you ain't gonna have any teeth and you'll have super diabetes," he picked at the rhythm guitarist, who just regarded the frontman for a few moments before eating another piece of candy.

"Ish there schuch a thing as shooper diabetesh?," wondered Murderface.

"Ja, Nathans think he ams a dentists, maybe he ams the doctors, too," said Toki, sticking his tongue out at the singer, who rolled his green eyes. "Oh, hi Pickle!"

"Hey guys," greeted Pickles, seating himself on Ofdensen's left, a cup of coffee spiked with whiskey in hand. It was 3:25 in the afternoon, and he was quite chipper as well. Sort of. "Dood, Toki, what the hell, man? That's a huge freakin bowl o' candy! Gimme a piece." Toki tossed a wrapped morsel of sugary goodness in the drummer's direction and hit Nathan in the head instead, who snatched it and ate it, staring first at Toki then at a disappointed Pickles. "Your aim sucks," the singer observed dryly.

Before the drummer could start sputtering in protest a low-pitched, throaty voice announced, "Hah, just like his dildoes guitars playing. All dat sugars ams rotting hims brain." It was Skwisgaar, in nothing but a towel and his signature guitar, hair hanging damp around his shoulders and down his back. Ofdensen glanced up to see the tall, lanky guitarist sitting down beside Pickles with a flourish.

"Been hottubbing, have you?," inquired Ofdensen smarmily.

"Oh ja, ands you kepts sendings de Kloksateers to bossers me ands textings me abouts dis stupids meetings, so heres I am," he replied, and began playing licks on his guitar.

"And you didn't put any pants on?," asked Nathan, raising a heavy black eyebrow.

"Nej, whyfore how comes? Everyone sees me nekkids anysway. Bwhatevars," the blond shrugs. He did have a point.

"Skwisgaar...never mind. Ok, guys, I'm going over the new tour, the stops, and the updated security," Ofdensen began, and the members of Dethklok started getting the usual glazed stares. After a few minutes Ofdensen clears his throat and says, "Skwisgaar, I know this is boring to you but...Skwisgaar, WAKE UP!," causing the guitarist to jerk in his chair and almost fall out of it, and the rest of the boys laughed at the Swede's expense.

"Stupids butlers, you scares de fucks outs of me!," squawked Skwisgaar, shooting an angry glare at the now self-satisfied CFO.

"Now if I could continue--"

Skwisgaar yanked off the towel and threw it at Ofdensen, hitting him square in the face. "Dere, wipes you face on dats, butlers man. It has been coverings my greatness. Maybes it rubs off on you, eh robots?"

The expression the normally suave, businesslike man gave the Swede sent chills down their collective backs, and the smirk slid right off the blond's face.

Needless to say the rest of the meeting was a trifle tense, but Skwisgaar got in a last jab at the CFO, taking his time leaving the room so the manager could see lots of pale Swedish ass on the way out. When they left, Ofdensen sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and wondered if the huge sum he was being paid was still worth it. Well, of course it was. He loved his boys.

And he was filthy fucking rich.

The group dashed through the jungle, expertly avoiding obstacles in their ground-eating dash, and the Yunmuri scouts were surprised that Kinnamara kept up with them. She was even carrying her medicine travel bag and some shaman magic items, talismans, potions and such, along with her light spear, club, and knife. She was used to it, having hunted and trained with the warriors of her tribe, and she was young and healthy. Berabha had been left with her mother, and it was difficult telling him goodbye; she heard him crying for her as they exited the village, and she had to tell herself it was just for a few days, long enough for the two related tribes to exact revenge on the Kameinya.

"You are like female jaguar," Hanto said appreciatively. "Beautiful and tireless and unafraid."

She merely inclined her head and murmured thank you, as a well brought up young woman should do. She saw Mehetse scowling out of the corner of her eye, but he said nothing. The last thing they need would be to have a falling-out with their allies with such a hostile tribe about. It was less than a day's hard journeying, with one rest stop, to reach the Yunmuri encampment, and the inhabitants were awaiting them eagerly. As the party ran into the midst, slowing down and panting, the chieftainess came to meet them, praising and thanking them for their aid.

Swaheir wore the chieftain's headdress, with the tattoos that marked her as a leader of her people, and she wore her duties gracefully. She was short and lean, but was confident and wise, and in her younger days could chase small game and dispatch it with her bare hands. Now her straight black hair was streaked with grey, and she wore it in the traditional matron's bun. Her decorated spear, symbol of her office, she carried loosely but firmly in her right hand. It wasn't purely ceremonial however--it was a real, well made weapon, and she could and would use it.

She would set out with them, and they would find the Kameinya and make them pay for the unprovoked attack on the Yunmuri. But that would wait until the morning; for now, they would eat and call the spirits, for the Yannemango had the most powerful and well-trained shamans. And so Kinnamara, despite her youth, called the Spirits and asked them to bless and protect their peoples, and she mixed body paint in the way it had been done for tens of thousands of years, anointing the warriors bodies and her own. She led the dance around the great bonfire, shouting her pleas, and the drumming was all around her. Pounding, pounding, in her head, her heart, faster, she spun and hopped in time with its beat.

She twirled and and spun, and her spirit abandoned its body for a few brief minutes, but what she saw packed a wallop she was unprepared for.

She saw the two allied tribes hunting the enemy and they found them, cutting them to pieces, and they come back triumphant. She saw the celebrations, and Mehetse's smiling face, and her baby warm against her side. She saw her mother, stern but loving, and she saw her mother's face then twisted with pain. She saw her village lain in ruin, burning, people screaming. She could smell the fire and blood and fear...how could this be, if they are successful? Then she saw a great, sprawling building, a fortress, with a terrifying serpentine animal of some sort gracing one end, the vast maw gaping as if to devour the very landscape. She saw a strange, rocky terrain, with high winds and some sort of white substance on the ground.

Then she saw her father, and he looked nearly the same as the last time she saw him, with a few more worry lines. Slender, capable, dangerous, sleek...just like she herself was, only she didn't consider herself that way. All this flashed in her frenzied brain before her knees buckled and she collapsed, chest heaving, beside the roaring fire.

"33, are you sure you checked all the exits?," asked the bespectacled man of the Klokateer. "Damn Revengencer leftovers are still obsessed with Dethklok."

"Yes, sir," the man answered crisply. "Everything is locked down tight. We're still pulling security footage as we speak."

The CFO thought quickly for a few moments, regarding the tall, slim, hooded Klokateer as he considered. "Mobilize the Air Team, tell them to sweep low…hm, a 50 mile radius from the Island, then if they find nothing return to Mordhaus."

"Aye, sir," affirms #33, immediately carrying out the order. He was one of the few people in their circle that Ofdensen trusted, and he relied on him heavily at times. He was also a distant cousin, but Dethklok loyalty was thicker than water, or blood. That and the substantial sum the man was paid for his services. After obeying the command he turned back to Ofdensen, pausing for a moment as if in thought. "Mr. Ofdensen," he began, not wanting to be too familiar with the man while on duty. "Are you all right? Something seems to be bothering you."

"What?," he said, snapping back to reality. His mind had been wandering, something that rarely happened, this wasn't good at all. "Oh. No, Patrick, I'm fine. Just been having these dreams, that's all. I'm heading back to my business office, call me if anything turns up, will you?"

"Course, Captain," the Klokateer answered good-naturedly. He went back to his post, monitoring the perimeter of Mordland and responding to any threat that may turn up, and the CFO rubbed the bridge of his nose and exited the room.

Tara was waiting on him when he reached the office, dressed in her business casual best and reading a magazine like she was in a hospital waiting room. "Heya, Charles," she greeted him in her purring voice.

"Tara," he nodded perfunctorily to her. "Something I can help you with?"

"Ohhh yes," she smiled, batting her big blue-green eyes. "You know exactly what's going on, Charlie-boy. Nathan told me he wanted full custody of Vasher, and that I would have limited visitation rights. We've never bothered with any legal stuff before, and I've never tried to keep his son from him. So what is this horseshit, Chuck? Hm?"

Ofdensen made his way to his mahogany desk, motioning for her to sit down again, and sighed. "I can assure you, contrary to what you think, I had nothing to do with this turn of events. Nathan is overreacting in my opinion, hoping to keep from losing Vasher, since he lost you. That and all the tabloids and internet gossip, not to mention the lurid stories on the television."

"Oh yes, me running off with the German prince, oh and the supposed affair I had with Pickles..come on, gimme a break. This is my son we're talking about here, MY son. I'm his mother, you think I'm just gonna give him up??"

"I wouldn't expect that of you, Tara," responded the CFO evenly. "I know how tenacious you are, Miss Morrigan. Whatever happened to that German prince, anyways?"

"There was no German prince!," she spat, leaping to her feat in her excitement. "Just the frontman of Animal Crack-Whore. And that was much later. So, just to let you know, Mr. Ofdensen, I'm securing the legal services of Andrew Gaahl, one of the few assholes who could outmaneuver you. Oh, and it's with MY money, too, not the child support you're so thoughtful to send." She stomped out of the room, slamming the door. A couple of picture frames fell, smashing the glass on the polished floor.

"Well, that went well," observed Ofdensen to no one in particular.

The redheaded woman stalked down the corridor, angry beyond words. How dare he…how dare they all! She'd been a good woman to Nathan, and had given him a precious son to carry on his line, had even participated in that fertility ritual with him among his Amazonian people nearly 5 years ago which worked rather well, since Vasher appeared almost 9 months to the day later. She had left the employ of Mordhaus and now headed her own design firm, creating graphics, logos and artwork for various bands and companies, and she was proud that she needed none of Nathan's money. She made sure he sent funds for his son, she felt it was only fair, and she'd never refused to let him come see the boy or to bring him here, anytime Nathan wished it. "Assholes," she muttered under her breath.

She rounded the corner and strode through the doorway to the rec room and was brought up short by the scene before her. It was Nathan and Vasher playing with some robot toys, completely caught up in their imaginations. The singer was making all sorts of sound effects and talking in robot voice, and the boy smiled and pretended to shoot Nathan's robot with his laser gun. The child had dark, dark brown hair, with just a hint of the reddish tint that characterized his mother's locks. His large eyes were green like Nathan's but shaped like his mother's, but he looked more like his father with his strong jaw and nose and high cheekbones. Tara's heart melted to see them like this, and she didn't want to fight. She wanted them all to get along. In fact, she missed Nathan, but she would never admit it, most of all to herself. "Having fun?," she asked, getting their attention.

"Yeah, Mommy!," answered the four year old.

"Oh, hi Tara," Nathan greeted her, but his shoulders tensed and his lips tightened when he saw her, as they usually did anymore when he was around her.

"Hi, Taras!," burbled Toki from the hot tub, waving.

"Hello Toki," she laughed, watching as his exaggerating waving wetted the Swede sitting next to him, who 'pffffted' in indignation. "How are you today?"

"Oh, I's goods," he replied, settling back down in the hot tub. "Tinks I mights play some veedio games wis Vashers in a minute, if that ams okeys?"

"It's fine with me," declared Tara. Nathan grunted his approval. "Nathan and I have some things to talk about anyway, don't we, Nathan?" Nathan groaned.

"What did you See?," asked Swaheir anxiously, and the groggy young woman sat up, with help from Hanto.

"I see victory," she managed to speak, knowing she was holding back all that she saw. "I see both tribes overcoming the Kameinya."

"Victory! Success! The Yannemango Shaman has seen it!," the chieftainess addressed the onlookers. "Tomorrow we feast after destroying them!" The crowd cheered. Hanto helped Kinnamara to her feet but she went to Mehetse's comforting arms, and the Yunmuri scout frowned but wisely didn't press the issue, the Yannemango had been good enough to send both physical and spiritual help to their tribe, and he wouldn't want to appear ungrateful.

Mehetse talked Kinnamara into allowing him to stay with her in the visitor's hut, and she took him into her embrace. She needed the affection and security, and didn't refuse him when he removed her loin covering and entered her eagerly. She even enjoyed it, moving her hips in time to his deep thrusts, moaning and calling his name. She climaxed right before he did, and his hot seed spurted inside her. Mehetse collapsed beside her, an arm draped across her body, catching his breath. "Kinnamara, love of mine," he said after a few minutes. "Won't you marry me? I want to be your mate."

At that moment she nearly said yes. She didn't, however, especially after the terrifying visions she'd had that night—what good would it do if they were all dead, or if everyone but her died? What point was there? "I'm sorry, Mehetse. I can't marry anyone, at least right now. I can't explain why, just that something tells me I must wait."

He was clearly disappointed, but he said, "Well, you are a shaman. They are supposed to listen to the voices. I just wish they'd tell you to love me."

The next morning the warriors from the two tribes set out to track the Kameinya, and Kinnamara remained with the rest of the Yunmuri, to conduct prayers to the Gods and whatever friendly spirits that would help them. She'd drank purifying tea, burnt herbal incense, and was in the midst of another entreaty on her people's behalf when she heard screaming. Rushing to the edge of the village with spear in hand she saw unfamiliar, strangely decorated hunters coming her way. They must be the enemy! "Tapyîa!," she cried. "Enemies!" Others took up the alarm, all adults grabbing whatever weapons were close at hand. Kinnamara rushed to the first ones to breach the village edge, ducking the spear thrust at her and sinking her own light, balanced spear into his belly. Yanking it out she screamed as another lunged at her. She sidestepped the spear point just in time, but the warrior reversed and caught her in the jaw with the butt of his weapon, and she saw stars.

Luckily for her the others had come to the defense of the surprised village, engaging the enemies. Muniga, Swaheir's young son, was at the forefront, buying her enough time to get her bearings and retreat. She could already feel her face swelling, but she wasn't running away from the fight—she grabbed her traveling packs and retrieved her blowgun and small sack of powder, along with some small, feathered darts. She'd spent hours carefully mixing and pounding herbs to make that powder, and it was extremely toxic. Dipping the points of the darts in the powder she inserted a dart into the tube, raised it to her lips, and when she got a clear shot at one of the Kameinya she blew with a short, strong breath.

In the span of two seconds he dropped, stone dead. She did another one like that with unerring accuracy—it was necessary since the fighting was such closed-quarters, and she didn't want to hit any of her allies. Soon blood spattered the path leading to the center of the camp, along with the bodies of enemy and ally alike. It soon became too congested in the small space for her to use her darts, so she grabbed her club and ran to where the fighting was the worst, and found herself facing a huge, brightly painted warrior. He yelled and swung at her with his spear, and she cracked his forearm with her heavy, shaped wooden club. The bones snapped in that arm, causing him to drop the spear. However, he had a large knife he slashed at her with, and she wasn't prepared to evade such a small, dangerous weapon.

He stabbed her in the side, and then caught her in the upper arm, and she screamed out in agony. Summoning up the last of her strength she swung her club and caught him in the temple, cracking his skull. He fell forward, right on top of her, sending them both crashing to the ground, and then everything went black.


	4. DramaKlok

"I don't wanna go to bed!," shouted the little boy, tantrum in full-swing. His father was notorious for his tantrum-throwing, and Vasher was a chip off the old block. Nathan, baffled as to what to do, let the kid knock over decorations and lamps and stomp his little feet.

"Come on, Vash, it's way past your bedtime. You gotta get some sleep, all right?," Nathan said in an attempt to placate the child.

"Damn, Nathan, the kid putsh you to schame," declared Murderface, who'd been playing wheelchair bound, but abandoned the arcade game in favor of the drama unfolding in the rec room.

"But I don't wanna! You guys don't haveta go to bed early," Vasher whined, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Like a typical child he was fighting off exhaustion and it was making him irritable.

"Yeah but we're grownupsh," explains Murderface matter-of-factly. "Little kidsh gotta get to shleep scho they can…uh..grow big and strong and schtuff."

Tara walked in just as another squalling session was in full force, and was brought up short. "Vasher, sweetie, come on I'll take you to bed." The boy, knowing it was futile to protest any longer, heaved a sad, petulant sigh and ran to his mother's arms. "I supposed to be able to do what I want, Dethklok does what they wanna do!" He sobbed, burying his face in her shoulder as she picked him up and held him.

Nathan came to them, saying, "Hey…how about this. I'll take ya on a tour of the dungeon tomorrow if you go to bed."

"I hate you! I hate you!," the boy sniffed. "You don't care about me or Mommy!"

Nathan blinked, his face twisted into shock and hurt. He was speechless, and stood there as Tara comforted him. She turned to him and said softly, "I'm sorry, Nathan. He don't mean it. I'm gonna take him to his room now." She held his eyes earnestly and apologetically before carrying the boy out of the room. His sniffling could be heard receding into the distance.

"Hmmph," snorted Murderface, who went back to his game. Nathan sank into the couch and put his face in his hands. God, having children was brutal. He needed to write a song about it.

Toki was wandering the corridors when he met Tara with Vasher in her arms. He had quieted down with an occasional sob or hiccup at this point, and the Norwegian gave her a quizzical look. "Ams everysthing okeys?," he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Oh, he's been throwing a Nathan-sized tantrum," explained the redhead. Toki followed her to the room her and her son shared when they were staying at Mordhaus and helped her get him to bed. He pulled down the covers and pulled the boy's shoes off, and the mother placed him carefully in the bed and pulled the blankets over him. Then the adults tiptoed out of the room and shut the door. "Thanks, Toki," Tara spoke at last.

"You's welcomes," answered Toki. "Wowee he tireds himskelf out. Hassing the kids is a lots of work, huh?"

"Yeah, sometimes. It's worth it though."

"Vasher is lots of fun. When he nots throwing the tantrums," Toki added, following Tara to the small back kitchen. She was a bit hungry and wanted something to eat, and Toki plodded along after her.

"Uh, Toki…you're acting awfully funny. Something wrong?," wondered the redhead. He was acting like a puppy, she thought.

"Noes," he said brightly, watching her remove some sandwich makings from the refrigerator. "I just boreds and lonelies. Ands I likes you."

"Ok. Well, I like you, too," she said, spreading mayonnaise on a slice of bread. She could feel his eyes on her though, and it was making her back warm. She turned and he was smiling at her.

"I reallies reallies likes you," he added, still smiling goofily at her.

Her dubious expression gave way to one of realization. "Oh. No, now wait a minnit. You can't be serious."

"What? You nots wis Nathans for years now. We nevers gets the laydees arounds here what likes you ams, nots groupies or Kloksateers or skanks. You smarts, and funnies, ands beautifuls…"

"I can't believe this," she muttered, going back to fixing her sandwich.

"You don't likes me?," he said, in a heartbreakingly innocent and distraught voice.

"Of course I like you, Toki!," she answered, exasperated. "But not to date, not like that. I like all of you, even Ofdensen. I couldn't see you anyway, my job keeps me busy, and it would just be awkward with Nathan--"

"Buts he don'ts care," insisted Toki. "He sees he son when he feels likes it, does what he feels like doings, ands I the one what helps wis Vasher just then. I goods wis him, you knows it! Nathans ams too stupiks to see what in fronts of he face! He gives you ups ands ignores you until hims boreds, ands acts like the dicks when you's here! He—,"

Just then a low-pitched growl was the only warning before former high school football player Nathan Explosion lunged at the guitarist. He'd heard the last bit of Toki's tirade and completely lost it, and was currently banging the Norwegian's head on the tiled floor. Toki was much smaller but stronger than he looked, and twisted in Nathan's grip, finally clipping Nathan's cheek with his fist. "Nathan! Oh God, stop!," screamed Tara, unsure of how to break them up. "Fucking stop that!"

"Gets off of me..stupiks dumbsdick," grunted Toki, who got his head slammed against the floor again. In desperation he grabbed a handful of ebony hair and yanked down and to the side, smashing the singer's face against the floor. Crimson was beginning to spatter the clean kitchen floor, and in fear Tara ran to the intercom on the wall and called for security to the back kitchen. When she ran back she found two bloody, panting musicians laying side by side on the floor.

"You Norwegian son of a bitch," gasped Nathan. "Don't you EVER act like I don't love my son. I do, you bastard. And his mother. I'll always love them."

Tara just stood there, mouth agape.

Kinnamara slowly regained consciousness, and it was a painful process. She heard voices around her, speaking softly and urgently, and recognized Mehetse's voice, along with her mother's. Was she back at home? Carefully she stirred, noting her hip felt like it was on fire and her upper arm throbbed, and opened her eyes. "Kinnamara!," cried Tinnemanga happily. "How are you feeling, child?"

"Sore and tired," she answered ruefully. "I thought I was dead."

"You almost were," the older woman said irritably. "Foolish Yunmuri didn't leave enough warriors to guard the village. I travelled here as fast as I could when I got word what happened." The elder shaman had treated and bandaged her daughter's wounds, and poured healing tea down her throat.

"Did we defeat the Kameinya?," the young woman asked. Her mother nodded her head.

"Tonight we eat our foes, obliterating them and taking their strength for our own," she said with satisfaction. After what she'd just went through, Kinnamara couldn't wait.

The few captives still alive were brought before the grand bonfire, and pushed to their knees. Stoically they accepted their fate; the tribes were taught never to give in, but to accept what cannot be changed. They had lost, and their lives were forfeit. It was the way of things, and had been for millennia. They were ritually killed by a single, deep slash to the throat, and their bodies fell forward in a pool of scarlet, lifeless. Then the fallen foes were systematically butchered by the women, who chopped off the heads to be used as trophies, then chopped off arms and legs, splitting open the torso and removing the soft organs. Only the pregnant women ate the liver, the rest of the organs were discarded. Everything else was thrown on the fire to roast, and the pungent smell permeated the whole encampment as the victims were cooked.

Moving very painfully, Kinnamara came forward to receive the Honored share, for her defense of the people. This was usually reserved for renowned hunters and warriors, but she'd earned this reward with her valiant efforts and good luck in repelling their enemies. She was given a roasted chunk of human meat on a wooden platter, and everyone watched as she sank her teeth into it, tearing off a bite-sized portion and chewing with gusto. She swallowed, and murmurs of approval rippled through the onlookers, and the rest of the folk were then served.

The chieftainess' son Muniga had earned much distinction as well, and received a choice portion of the meat. Mehetse had been brave, coming back with only minor wounds, and the casualties all around weren't as bad as what was expected. All in all, a successful endeavor, and many blessings and gifts were bestowed upon the Shamans and the Yannemango tribe from the grateful Yunmuri.

Days later finds a healing Kinnamara back with her own tribe, cradling her baby against her good side with her good arm, while she watched the village go about their daily business. She'd come so close to death, but both related tribes had had victory, their enemies were destroyed and nothing else had happened. Maybe the visions were wrong, she thought to herself. Maybe she overreacted and made it out to be more than what it was. It could be just a warning about the wounding she'd received, she reasoned. She snuggled Berabha close, staringly lovingly at the infant with his bronze skin and pale eyes. She'd missed him while she was away and he'd missed her as well, for Ara who'd kept him while she and her mother were away said he fussed night and day, only stopping to sleep and eat. Now he was one happy, contented baby.


	5. DethWhat

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter guys, but more is coming. It'll be a lot I'm thinking, but anyways hope ya enjoy! Please read and respond. And to the ones who have reviewed thanks!

* * *

"Guys, you really must stop doing this," Charles reprimanded the wounded Dethklok members as they were being treated by the Mordhaus infirmary staff.

"He starteds it!," declared Toki, frowning as a nurse cleaned his wounds.

Nathan roared from the other side of the room and had to be sedated to keep him still enough to treat. Tara was still too shocked to speak, just standing numbly by while the other members of Dethklok entered as soon as they heard so they could point and laugh. "It doesn't matter," Ofdensen said gravely. "You, and I mean all of you, must learn at least a bit of restraint. Killing each other is not a good way to conduct business."

Nathan was in la-la land now, and just grunted his acknowledgement.

A nurse came running up, babbling something at the CFO who raised an eyebrow at her. "Calm yourself, what is it? What's going on?" She finally took a deep breath and said that Klokateer 33 had sent an urgent message to the infirmary for him. He went to the intercom to see what was the matter, just as the general security alarm started up.

"Sir, we have a bit of a situation," #33 informed him. "We're trying to lock it down right now, but this…ah..you need to get down here."

"I'm on my way. Tara, could you keep an eye on the boys?," Ofdensen asked, and she nodded in affirmation. Turning crisply on his heel he was gone in an instant, heading for the monitoring room.

When he reached the station Patrick was right by the door, and when the CFO swept inside he noticed several Elite Klokateers, some wounded, and three of them were holding what he assumed was an intruder. It looked to be a young girl, dressed in an ill-fitting dress and barefoot, and hissing like a cat. She ceased immediately when she spotted him, saying in a heavily accented voice, "Nightstallkerr! Eet's you!"

Completely astonished he stood there, eyes wide and silent, for a good minute before finally managing to say, "_Kinnamara_? Is it you?" She nodded vigorously, and he motioned for them to release her.

"But sir--," 33 began. "She snuck in here and killed half a dozen guards, and—"

"RELEASE HER!," snapped Ofdensen, and was instantly obeyed.

"Fatherr!," she cried, and rushed to him, wrapping lean yet strong arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest, then let loose with a babble of a strange, clipped language, some of which he understood.

"Charles..?," Patrick said, stunned. "Is this—your daughter?"

"Yes, it is," he answered, then to Kinnamara, "What the hell are you doing here? And how?"

"Eet's a lonng storee," she replies in her strange accent.

Her gazes at her face, searching it. Her eyes, so like his, returned the gaze candidly. Her skin was bronzed from her outdoor life but not as dark as the rest of her tribe, and her fine-boned frame was slender like his own, but she had a wiry strength from constant physical exertion. Her shiny black hair was loosely tied into a ponytail and it hung down her back nearly to her waist, her cheekbones high and pronounced, nose strong…but she was beautiful in an exotic way. Beautiful and dangerous. But not to him, he could see.

"Come with me," said Ofdensen softfly, taking her gently by the arm. "We have much to discuss. Such as why you're here."

"Ees my tribe, Nathan's trribe," she says, sadness flitting across her features. "They in trouble. Beeg trouble—our motherr, the jungle, ees being deestroyed! We haves no land for village now!"

"_What_?," he cried. "This is serious," he said as they walked to his quarters.


	6. Brutal Meeting

Band meeting the next morning found the members of Dethklok at the small conference room table with Ofdensen and an unfamiliar, exotic-looking young lady. The musicians wandered in as they felt like it, then had their curiosity aroused by what her presence must mean. Nathan eventually took the initiative and demanded, "Uhhh..Ofdensen…who's that chick there? If she's with you I know she ain't a groupie.."

"No, she's not a groupie," began the manager, bracing himself for the expected Dethklok fireworks. "Guys, listen up. I want you to meet Kinnamara Ofdensen…my daughter. Kinnamara, you know Nathan already, and this is William Murderface, Pickles over there, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, and Toki Wartooth."

"Hello," the girl said in a rolling, lilting accent.

"Whoa whoa whoa Charlie…you got a datter?," asked Pickles, shocked.

"You means..de robots hads skexxes?," asked a dubious Skwisgaar.

"Guys--," he began.

"Holy schit! Imagine that, huh?," asked Murderface, who was carving his initials into the table with a very large knife.

"So..what the hell she doing here?," came Nathan's next question.

"Her mother is a Yannemango shaman," the CFO began.

"Whoa! Then she's like, of my tribe. Why didn'tya say so? Hi there, tribal babe," Nathan said. He wasn't anything if not blunt and uncouth.

Ofdensen sighed and counted to ten. "Hello, Nathan the Travellerr," Kinnamara responded, giving him the appellation her people had conferred on him.

"Wowee, Ofsdensens…she ams pretty," said Toki, waving at the young woman and smiling happily. "Why we nevers see her befores?"

"Well Toki, that's a very good question, and it's part of what I wanted to talk to you all here today," Ofdensen continued. "I encountered the Yannemango some years before you learned of your heritage, indeed before Dethklok was even a thought, when I was a young man. I…let's just say I was an assassin in my younger days, and on a mission I was stranded in the Amazon, and without much supplies or weapons, wandering for days until I entered their territory. Five of their best warriors were sent out to eliminate me, and I killed them all, at night, alone and lost. That earned their respect and I was taken into the tribe."

"Dis is best bands meetings evars," interjected Skwisgaar, rapt with attention for once. "You's like dat guy in dat movie, doubles-oh-sebbens or somesting. Eh? Den you loves up dats shamans lady, eh?"

And for the first time they could remember the man blushed, shuffled papers and looked away from them all. "Motherr says she befrriends the Nightstalker but wanted notheeng to do with heem that way, unteel the ceremonee that made heem a hunterr of the trribe," said Kinnamara. "She say hees magick was strrong that night and he took her—"

"Ah, that's enough detail, Kinnamara. At any rate, when I was finally rescued Tinnemanga was pregnant with my daughter, which I knew nothing of until years later. When I learned of her existence I intended for her to be brought up properly as my child and heir, but the tribe's customs wouldn't allow it—they can't be without their Shaman, who must provide for an heir either by blood or choice, and there were no other suitable candidates. I was beginning my PR career for bands and could hardly raise a child on my own, and I would have had to take Kinnamara and her mother by force, which would have devastating results in that whole area of the Amazon Basin. Not to mention Tinnemanga wouldn't hesitate to kill me at the first opportunity and escape back to her people. So Kinnamara remained, fulfilling her role for her tribe."

"Damn, dood. Wasn't that around th' taime ya started managing Snakes n' Barrels? I never knew..," said Pickles, looking at Ofdensen as if seeing him for the first time.

"Yes, Pickles. That coupled with my divorce made it a difficult time for me. And she's here now because her tribe has nearly been wiped out. The lumber companies and other corporations have decimated that part of the forest."

"WHAT?," bellowed Nathan, his dark-haired head whipping around to fix a beady eye at Ofdensen. "My people—how could…God dammit!," he pounded his meaty fists on the conference table angrily. "I thought you paid off those developer assholes! We got more money than fucking Jesus, God and Satan, what the FUCK?"

Kinnamara's owlish eyes widened at the singer's little tirade, but Ofdensen took it in stride. It wasn't one of his worst tantrums, by far. "Hey if you care that mutch jusht schend a buncha Klokateersh down there to shtraighten that schit out," suggested Murderface, cutting his own arm and watching it bleed with disturbing interest. "Hey Ofdenshen, don't we have nukes we could use?"

"Uh, no, William," sighed Ofdensen. "And nuking the place isn't going to improve things for the Yannemango. No, the political and economic situation has fallen apart in the whole Amazon Basin. Money was being funneled to certain parties to keep the Yannemango and surrounding tribes in their ancestral homes, but now things have changed. And so, after wrangling with these problems last night I've brought before you something you must decide on."

"Awww, butlers man has to ruins greats story wis dildoes beesness," complains Skwisgaar, tossing his blond hair.

"To make it short and sweet, basically we can resettle the Yannemango, pumping money into whatever country takes them in to guarantee their safety, and letting the rest of the Amazon be destroyed, upsetting the global environment and causing massive repercussions for years to come. Or we can..buy all of the undeveloped Amazon Jungle and give it back to the respective tribes living there, thereby saving the Yannemango and the world's environmental balance."

"Yeah, but dood, that's not a metal thing to do, y'know. Nat at all," declared the drummer.

"Yeah, shince when do we give a pisch about anything?," demanded Murderface, bleeding on the table.

"Well I don't care we're buying the Amazon or whatever the fuck," barked Nathan, arms crossed in front of his massive chest. His mind was made up; his people, his tribe, and they were brutal cannibals. It would be a metal blasphemy not to save them.

"You'll have to vote on what you guys want to do," Ofdensen said, fixing them all in turn with a pointed look. "Well?"

"Umm…cans we sleeps on it?," asked Toki. "I wants to asks Deddy what he think we should do."

"Pfffffft dats stupids stuff aminals can'ts say nossings," mocked Skwisgaar. Toki stuck his tongue out at the Swede.

"Yeeh, I say we think about it," suggested Pickles, eager to get some drinking done. Everyone except Nathan agreed to this, and the meeting was brought to a close. The hulking singer stomped off to sulk, and each of the others wandered off amiably.

Kinnamara, confused by the behavior of these outsiders, simply sat for a moment, gazing at the man who fathered her. "Fatherr," she said in her guttural English. "I thank you forr yourr help."

"It's my duty to help my daughter," he responded dryly, still tense. He hoped the boys would agree to buying the expanse of rainforest to save the tribal peoples. It was their land after all, they were there first. "How is Tinnemanga? Is she well?," he asked, his curiosity and affection for the shaman getting the better of him.

"She ees good," replied the young girl. "She ees taking carre of Berabha, my son, among the surrvivors of my trribe. She ees getting old but she ees still strrong."

"You have a child?," he asked with a start.

"Yes, he ees almost nine months old," she said wistfully, clearly missing him. "Maybe someday you meet heem, heh? He look a lot like you."

Ofdensen sat back in his chair, shocked. He was a grandfather…wow. All the space of a day he went from CFO of Dethklok to father and grandfather. He took his glasses off and sighed.

Tara was watching tv in the Rec Room when the familiar figure of Ofdensen appeared, with an unfamiliar young woman next to him. "Hello, Tara," he greeted her, seeming a bit uncomfortable. "This is Kinnamara Ofdensen, my daughter."

"Hi there—wait, did you say _daughter_?," asked the redhead.

"Hello," said the girl, seeming to swallow her syllables.

"Yes, my daughter. Kinnamara, this is Tara Morrigan. Now you two chat until I'm free to talk to Kinnamara again…do girl stuff or something," he said, and hightailed it out of the room. Tara shrugged and turned to the newcomer, motioning for her to sit. "Well..uh..I never knew Ofdensen had any kids," began Tara, unsure of what to say to this stranger.

"Yes, he deedn't know about me for many year, I lived with my motherr's people in the Amazon," she explained. She was intrigued by this tall, strong-looking woman with the unusual red hair…she wanted to touch the hair and found herself doing just that much to Tara's surprise. She simply sat still while Kinnamara felt the texture of her thick, wavy red tresses. "You are verry bee-yootiful," she said honestly.

"Ah, thank you. So are you Kinnamara…did I get the name right?," said Tara, and the young girl nodded her head affirmatively. The females sat conversing, learning about one another, and they were laughing together when Skwisgaar appeared, sitting beside Ofdensen's daughter.

"Hi, Skwisgaar," greeted Tara.

"Hej, laydees," he responded. "So, you ams Ofsdensen's daughter, hm? Dis yous forst time in Mordhaus?"

"Yes, I neverr be here before," Kinnamara answers. "I be een ceety before I come here, but Mordhaus is like a beeg ceety."

"Bwell maybes I shows you arounds, eh? Is easy to gets lost here, I think you knows."

"Oh..I think eet wouldn't hurrt, for a while anyway. Then we come back here to wait for my fatherr."

Tara almost giggled at the mangling of the English language taking place b


	7. SettlingInKlok

Skwisgaar walked with her, taking her to different spots and pointing out things to her, such as the Yard-wolf pen, their in-house music studio, etc. She was amazed at the sheer size of the complex and the technology involved. Her people basically had a Neolithic way of life, almost unchanging for many many millennia. "Is so…beeg….and so many macheens," she said in wonder.

"Ja, I guess is ams pretty stranges for you, eh?," Skwisgaar said, glancing sidelong at her. "So why de butlars man leaves you there? Or maybe he don't's knows about you?"

"He deedn't know about me until I am almost a woman," she answered as they walked in the courtyard, enjoying the evening air. "But he know I be too important for my trribe, and he know notheeng about taking care of a girrl."

"I nevars knew my fathars," the Swede said softly, realizing he and the exotic foreign girl had something in common. "So I knows how you feels. Buts you had familees now, I think you knows it." The pair had stopped in front of a very metal outdoor fountain, both just breathing and standing there for a moment. "You ams very lovelees," he told her, his blue eyes fixed on her.

Kinnamara wasn't sure how to respond to this, being unfamiliar with the outside world or any of its cultures. "I theenk you have beautiful hairr," she said. She did find his thick, long, golden locks just as fascinating as Tara's red hair.

"Tack," he replied, running a slender hand up her arm and drawing close to her. He bent and kissed her full on the lips, and she was completely taken by surprise. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact it made her tingly, but she was confused and a bit afraid, and one simply didn't intimately touch a shaman or a woman not your wife unless it was one of the Great Festivals. One moment the guitarist was holding the young woman in his arms kissing her deeply, and the next a stone knife with a bone handle was held to his throat.

"How darre you," she hissed, one strong hand gripping the man's slim wrist behind his back, the other holding the wickedly sharp blade to his throat. Skwisgaar's free hand was clutching her knife-hand wrist, but he knew with a flick his lifeblood would spill out, ebbing his life until he was no more. "I not be a slave-woman, I am a shaman. I am sacrred woman, fool."

"Jag har ledsen," he gulped. "I sorrees. Pleese, I ams sorrees. Ams big mistake." His eyes pleaded with hers, and she saw he had meant her no harm. It was in his nature to draw women to him and be drawn to them. She sensed his pheromones, though most of what he was radiating now was abject fear.

Slowly she lowered the small weapon, her hand shaking. "I be sorry too, Skwisgaarr. Do not touch me like that."

"Ams you nots allowed de pleasures? No skexxes?"

"Not..not like that. Not weeth just anyone, on any day. Only on holy days, weeth a successful warrior, orr weeth my mate." She was sorry she refused from the look on the Swede's face and the feelings running through her young body. "Come, I must see my fatherr," she said, taking Skwisgaar's hand. "Lead me back inside. I still haven't learrned the way."

"Okeys…if you promiskes nots to slice me up."

She smiled at him, those steel-grey eyes softening.

"Nathan? You in here?," came the throaty, familiar voice. He grunted his affirmation as Tara entered his room, where he'd been sulking all day. "I hadn't seen you all day, so I thought I'd check on you."

"Mmmph," he snorted, sprawled on his ginormous bed, in his underwear and looking unkempt. He felt her weight on the bed and he knew she wouldn't let him ignore her. A slender hand rested on his arm.

"What's wrong?," she asked softly, genuinely concerned. "Come on, what's wrong?

"It's the Yannemango..my people…the big corporations are pushing them out. And to save em and the world ecology we'll have to buy all that land, for a ridiculous amount of money. That's IF the guys will agree."

"I'm sure they will. They know how important it is to you, even if they don't care about the world's ecobalance. Come on. Put some clothes on and we'll have some ice cream with Vasher."

"I thought he hated me and thought I sucked."

"Nathan, he's four years old. HE has an excuse for behaving that way. He's already forgotten that outburst. He loves you. Very much," she said. And so do I, she thought, but didn't say it. "C'mon. Get up."

Reluctantly the singer heaved himself up and pulled on some clothes. He knew she wouldn't go away until he did. They collected Vasher from his and Tara's room and went to see Jean-Pierre, the sewn-back-together master chef. He had anything and everything you would want with your ice cream, along with hand-made and hand-scooped ice cream. Vasher soon had it all over himself, the table, Jean-Pierre, and his parents. Nathan's face softened and his mood lightened, and Tara was glad to see it. The singer was noticeably more moody and pensive than usual…it must be the Yannemango situation, the redhead thought as she ate more ice cream.

"Hey Mommy, how long're we staying?," the boy asked while enjoying some whipped cream and hot fudge.

"I thought we might stay another week or so," answered the woman, noticing the sour look coming over the singer's face. "I got some work to do when we get back."

"You can uh…yanno..stay as long as ya like. And ya don't have to worry about money, you know that."

"I know, Nathan, but I don't need you to take care of me."

The black-haired man looked away. "Yeah…I know," he mumbled, finishing his sundae.

"Oh boy, ice creeeeeam!," came Pickle's voice. He dashed to the table and began ringing for Jean-Pierre. "Man, I'm starvin'! I ain't ate a thing all day!"

"Uncle Pickles, will you play Wheelchair Bound with me?," piped up Vasher.

"Sure, kid," replied the drummer. "Jest lemme get some ice cream in me first."

"Did Skwisgaar…try anything?," asked Ofdensen, as discreetly as possible, while he and his daughter walked to his office.

"Trry anything? I don't underrstand," she said to that.

The man stopped and turned to her, fixing a glinting grey eye at her. "I know how different our societies are, even though I don't know everything about your people. Skwisgaar will try to get you to have sex with him, if he hasn't propositioned you already. It's what he does, and you deserve better than to be a single night of fun for him. That is what I am talking about."

Kinnamara's eyes looked at the floor, as befit a younger person being instructed by an older one. "I see, Fatherr. No, he has done notheeng wrong. You forrget that I am your daughterr, though. I can take carre of myself." The CFO resumed walking, and she fell in beside him.

"I've noticed," he said drily. They reached his office and he opened the door, letting them both inside. "Have a seat." She did, sitting primly, her back straight. "I have a room that's been made ready for you, so you won't have to sleep in my quarters—"

"I can't stay weeth you?," she asked, alarm in her voice.

"Well, no, it wouldn't be proper. Besides, you're a guest, and you need your own space."

The young lady didn't seem to like this too well…she'd never slept without a loved one in the room with her, ever..she'd had to sleep in some strange places when she reached civilization and on her travels here, but hearing her father's breathing and feeling his presence near soothed her like nothing else could in this strange place. "I am…not used to sleeping apart from people I know," she said.

"Ah…I see..well, please give it a try, all right? If it becomes too uncomfortable for you, I'll leave my personal chambers unlocked so you can come sleep there."

Kinnamara brightened at this. "Thank you, Nightstalkerr. You honorr me."

"You're…ah..welcome, Kinnamara. Now don't worry about a thing, hopefully we'll have your tribe's situation under control very soon." The girl bounded out of her chair and wrapped her strong arms around him, squeezing him tight. He didn't know what to make of it at first, but then his arms settled around her in a hug.

This..wasn't so bad. In fact, it felt pretty good, he thought. "My thanks to you, Fatherr. I go to my new room now." She squeezed him again before gracefully flitting out of the room.

Ofdensen sat down, took his glasses off, and rubbed his temples. More and more seemed to get piled on his shoulders, all the time, it seemed. He got tired of carrying this burden alone, and mentioned this to Agent #33 when he came to see him.

"Well, Charles, you're not alone," the young man reminded him. "You have me, and now you have your daughter."

"Well hell..," spoke the CFO. "I'd never thought of it that way. Thanks, Patrick. Could you do me a really big favor? Just sort of, you know, watch out for her, won't you?"

"Sure thing, boss. 'Course I think she can protect herself pretty good."

The room set aside for Kinnamara Ofdensen was bigger than her whole village put together, she thought. She had some idea of what to do with the nightgown provided for her, and the bed, but a lot of the objects in the room she hadn't a clue of what to do with. She slipped into the gown and made a circuit of the chamber, gazing at the pictures, poking into the closet and drawers, and playing with the tv remote. Then she pulled down the thick blankets, and crawled inside. It was cozy and soft…and quite comfortable…but the silence and stillness of the room descended on her heavily. It was palpable. It was cold and it scared her.

She closed her grey eyes and tried to sleep. It didn't work. This wasn't good, not good at all. If it wasn't considered proper to sleep in the same room with her father, her flesh and blood, then who could she sleep with? Do these people like being alone, by themselves so much? Well, she didn't like it! It was unnatural.

She sat up, swung her legs over and padded to the door. She went out into the hallway, a corridor which seemed to stretch for miles either way. All was dark and silent. She began walking, unsure of how to get back to Ofdensen's section of Mordhaus, and unsure of who to ask. Kinnamara kept going, not taking any branching passages but keeping to the main one, and came upon a door with graffiti and stab marks all over it. Pushing it open, she beheld one of the messiest, unkempt rooms she'd ever imagined could exist, with an equally unkempt person sprawled in the broken-down bed.

It was Murderface, and he was drooling on his pillow. "Ew," went the young woman, shutting the door and continuing on her way. After a few minutes she found a heavy white door with runes etched into it. She quietly pushed it open and found a sterling, Spartan, white room, with a white bed with a blond figure in it. "Skweesgarr?," she whispered, stepping into the room. "Hallo? Skweesgarr?"

No response or movement from the bed's occupant. Biting her lip, she approached the bed, and gently poked the man's shoulder. "Hey..could you help me find my fatherr's room? Skweesgarr?"

His eyes opened, taking in the girl's earnest face. "Hej. Whats ams you doings in min room? You comes to gets yous pleasures, ja?"

"Eh, no, I has…I mean, I am lost," she answered, unable to tear her eyes away from those magnetic blue eyes of his.

"Him no likes beings bossared at nights, when hims sleepings. Whats am wrongs? Maybes I helps."

"I just..um..I am afraid of being alone. That room ees scary and I can't do the sleeping," she replied, feeling foolish.

He laughed, and she thought he was laughing at her. "Nej, don't be de mads. I just tink am funnys, you who cans defends herskelf wis a flints knife, ams afraid to sleeps by herskelf."

Kinnamara grinned a little at that. "Yes, I guess eet ees a leetle seelly."

"Bwell, they ams plenty of de rooms in my beds. I won'ts try skexxings you, okeys?"

Would this be inappropriate? She didn't know..she only knew she couldn't sleep and Skwisgaar had offered to help. "Wellll…all right." He scooted over and she slid in beside him. "No funny beesness," she reminded him.

Surprisingly, he was already snoring. He'd had a whole round of groupies earlier, so he was pooped.


	8. In Dreams

Tara slept fitfully that night and fell into some deep, vivid dreams. She remembered the time she participated in the fertility ritual with Nathan and the Yannemango. It was meant to solidify his inclusion in the tribe and to continue his line. She'd been his lover for a year or so and knew of his ancestry, but the reality of what she was expected to be a part of hadn't yet dawned on her. Nathan had prodigious amounts of yopo and had been fasting for a day or so, and she found herself mostly naked, imbibing some sort of cannabis-like plant smoke dressed in a grass skirt and some beads covering her ample breasts. She'd been painted up and told by Ofdensen to relax and not to worry.

Sure. Don't worry. She didn't know if these guys were going to kill her and eat her, rape her, or what. But apparently she was intended for Nathan, since none of the men of the tribe would meet her eyes, even though they were intrigued by her large frame, full breasts and red hair. After a ceremony where Tinnemanga the shaman officiated, and began chanting, Nathan was led out by some of the tribal elders and Ofdensen, clad in a loincloth and painted up also. He told her that she was expected to make Nathan work for his right to mate her. She was expected to run and fight. And to carry his child.

But first, she had to prove herself as well.

She took off, running blindly through the jungle, the foliage whipping her face as she tore through. She heard Nathan's roaring and his large body chasing her, and that put a fire under her. What would he do? She knew her Nathan, or so she thought, but he was caught up in the ritual and his cannibal blood was boiling. She slipped, fell into a creek, kept going as best she could. The pounding of the drums back in the village grew fainter the further she went. Her heart was pounding and after several minutes of running headlong through the brush she was beginning to slow.

Nathan lumbered after her, and pounced on her after she had fallen flat on her face. She squealed and struggled, afraid of what was about to happen. Nathan howled in triumph as he tore her skirt from her, but she was ready for him. She wanted him. Despite her fear she trusted him ultimately and stopped her struggles against him.

He entered her, sinking balls-deep, and began pounding her. She cried out in absolute pleasure. She'd made her choice, her lord and mate was Nathan Explosion, she was his, all his. She came again and again and he slammed into her, finally spilling his potent seed deep inside her. Vasher was conceived that night, that night sacred to the Yannemango, his father's people.

Tara awoke sitting straight up and sweating. She was gasping for breath, her nipples hard, and she looked around the dark room. She was at Mordhaus, and her son, the heir of Nathan the Traveller, was sleeping beside her. God..that was vivid…even more real than the memory of the actual experience. She didn't even want to try going back to sleep.

Throwing a robe around her nightshirt-clad form she exited the room after reassuring herself Vasher was sound asleep. She found her way to the rec room, thinking she might watch some tv, and found Nathan already there. "Hey Nate," she said quietly, seating herself beside him. He grunted. "Nathan…you know why I came back here, don't you?," she asked.

"Yeah."

"Is it true you want sole custody of Vasher?," she asked.

Nathan turned to her and didn't say anything for a while. "No," he said at last.

"Then..why did you send me that letter? What was the point?"

"To get you to come here," he admitted. "I…uh…missed you. And Vasher."

Tara stared at him for a good long minute, unable to process what she'd just been told. Was he that much like a child, to lure her there like this?

Yes. He was.

"Nathan…you know how upset you made me? I was afraid you were going to take my son from me!"

"I know..and I'm sorry. I didn't know how to talk to you…things have been so tense and we'd drifted apart..I really miss you."

"Nathan..," she began, then softened. "I missed you too, but you don't need to play games with me. I've never refused you anything, you know this."

"I know. Can we..like..at least be friends? I ain't even had any of those..I have no friends. Nobody."

Tara leaned against him, sighing. "I've always been your friend, Nathan, even though you never knew it. Just don't pull any shit like that again, ok?"

"Ok. Deal."


	9. Dawnklok

Here's some more-sorry for the shortness of it, but there's more coming soon. It'll be action-packed! Maybe moar sexx! lol.

* * *

Kinnamara awoke nestled against Skwisgaar, who was naked as the day he was born. Which wasn't anything unusual, he was nude more than was comfortable for the rest of the guys in the band, but they had learned to ignore it. It didn't bother her, since in the Amazonian heat her people spent most of their time naked. The girl slid out of bed and stretched like a cat, her muscles rippling under supple skin. When she glanced at the white-clad bed Skwisgaar's dark blue eyes were watching her. "You moves like him," he observed.

"You meen my fatherr?," she asked, yawning.

"Ja. Is skexxy on yous, though." He sat up and stretched, completely unself-conscious like her.

She smiled. "I thank you for letting me get good night of sleeping. I go have the morrning meal now."

"Ja. Breakfasts."

"Brreck-fasts," she mimics, and exits the room.

The Swede looks down..damn. "I has de hornies now. Downs, boy! Dammits. Hottest chick heres and she doesn't wants to skexx me." He got out of bed and is torn between jacking off to rid himself of his morning wood, and going to breakfast to see Kinnamara. Hm. Maybe it wouldn't take too long to rub one out.

The CFO was on his second cup of coffee when he entered the dining area to see Skwisgaar up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Laughing with his daughter seated beside him.  
The look on Ofdensen's face was priceless, yet he sat down, with all his normal dignity, in silence. "So everything went ok last night?," he asked Kinnamara placidly.

"Yes, Fatherr," she answered innocently, picking through her eggs and bacon.

"And Skwisgaar didn't do anything…unwanted?"

The Swede paled. How did that man always seem to know everything?

"No, he deedn't," the girl replied. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair before meeting her father's eyes. Then she burst out laughing.

"I fail to see what's so humorous," he snorted.

"The look on yourr face," she tells him. "You are the serious, all of the time. You had that much in common weeth my Motherr."

Skwisgaar chuckled.

Toki came in with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Ja ifs she ams immoons to Skwisgaar's charms den she has some tastes!," he declared, then took a bite.

"Tokis, go fucks youskelf," snapped Skwisgaar, frowning.

"Well, ya know what they say, masturbation is safe sex with someone you love," came Nathan's growly voice as he came into the room. He too had a cup of Duncan Hills coffee in his custom mug.

"Ja I bets you loves youskelf a lots," snorted Skwisgaar, going back to his pickled herring.

Nathan sat down heavily, dark circles under his eyes. Another night of little to no sleep, and he did look haggard. Murderface slouched in, grumbling but saying nothing, and ordered some cereal and milk.

"Well, guys," Ofdensen remarked, breaking the quiet that had descended in the room. "The morning band meeting will be at 10:00 AM, and it's imperative you're all there. You'll have to let me know your decision on what we've previously discussed."

"Aw, God," complained the bassist. "It'sch too early in the damn morning to be worried about that schit. Ain't you got schome toashter to be fucking or schomething?" The other guys snickered.

Ofdensen counted to ten. Then he counted to fifty


End file.
